A Tankard Of Ale - online songbook

An Anthology Of 120 Drinking Song Lyrics

With my pot and thy pot to make the score higher, Mine Host was so drunk that he fell in the fire. But quoth the good wife5 sweet hart do not rayl, These things must be if we sell Ale.

But men ran so much with him on the score, That Vulcan at last grew wondrous poor, He owed the Brewer and Baker so much, They thretned to arrest him, his case it was such ; He went to his Anvill, to my pot and thine, He turn'd out his Maid, he pull'd down his Signe, But O (quoth the good wife) why should we fail, These things should not be if we sell Ale.

The Smith and his boy went to work for some chink, To pay for the liquor which others did drink. Of ale trades in London few break as I heare, That sell Tobacco, strong Ale and good Beer, They might have done better, but they were loth To fill up their measure with nothing but froth. Let no Ale-house keeper at my song rayl, These things must be if they sell Ale.